


Courtesy Call

by Majinie



Series: hugging it out [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (I like that that is an official tag), Castiel Takes Things Literally, Crowley is so done, Crowley needs a day off, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Hugging, I'm sleep-deprived and rambling, Just go read already, M/M, The Author Needs To Stop Tagging, There's no useful information coming, Why are you even still reading these, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:23:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majinie/pseuds/Majinie
Summary: Crowley reached for the bottle, intent on pouring himself another glass of scotch, when he felt the tug of a summoning spell. “You have got to be kidding me,” he managed before he appeared in the summoning circle, stumbling to catch himself because he had been sitting, dammit. Turning, with the bottle of Craig he'd managed to grab clutched between his fingers, he groaned as he spotted Dean Winchester with his pet angel outside the Devil's Trap.Of-fucking-course.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hikari told me Crowley needed a hug, so I decided to indulge her. ^^ You don't need to have read the first parts of this, but Cas' behaviour may make a little more sense if you did.

Crowley thumped his glass onto the table in front of him with a pinched sigh. He was surrounded by _idiots_. The longer he ruled Hell, he wondered how the hell – pardon his French – the place had managed not to collapse for so long. The bureaucracy was a complete and utter disaster and he wasn't even going to start with the employees.

He reached for the bottle, intent on pouring himself another glass of scotch, when he felt the tug of a summoning spell. “You have _got_ to be kidding me,” he managed before he appeared in the summoning circle, stumbling to catch himself because he had been _sitting_ , dammit. Turning, with the bottle of Craig he'd managed to grab clutched between his fingers, he groaned as he spotted Dean Winchester with his pet angel outside the Devil's Trap.

Of-fucking-course.

“Seriously?” he snapped, satisfied to see the hunter flinch a little at the lack of Crowley's usual playful, bantering introduction. “I'm centuries old and _I'm_ able to use a bloody phone, it can't be so hard to call ahead and _ask_ about what you want like bloody normal people!”

“It's, uh, quicker this way,” Dean offered.

The demon narrowed his eyes and stepped forward to the edge of the Devil's Trap. “I'm _glad_ it's so convenient for you, squirrel,” he hissed venomously.

Dean raised his eyebrows at him. “You seem tense,” he commented.

Crowley sneered at him and took a swig of his scotch before he responded: “Fabulously observed, Sherlock. Give that man a medal. Or a puppy. No, wait, I forgot you already have one following you around.” Castiel scowled, apparently recognising the jab at him for what it was. “ _You_ try running Hell for a bit and then tell me why I'm freaking tense. Now, are you going to keep wasting my time or does this have a point? If so, _get to it_.”

The two exchanged a look, Dean suppressing a chuckle (badly) and Crowley resisted the urge to bang his head against a wall, if only because there wasn't one in his immediate vicinity. _Especially_ when the hunter quipped: “Dude, you need a hug or something.

He didn't have _time_ for this nonsense, dammit.

“Yes, very funny. _Point_ , Winchester? I might actually – what are you giving me that look for?”

Castiel had turned his puppy-head-tilt toward Dean, which wasn't all that unusual, but now it was directed at Crowley and the angel was regarding the king of Hell with a frankly concerning amount of intent in his gaze.

He took a step forward.

“No,” said Crowley, pointing his bottle at the angel. “Don't you dare.”

“Uh, Cas?” Dean asked from behind Cas, but he sounded amused rather than worried.

Castiel advanced unirritably and Crowley took a minuscule step backwards as the other man neared the Devil's Trap.

“I mean it. Squirrel, call of your boyfriend.” Dean, helpful as ever, was giggling incredulously, making no move to comply. Crowley pointed at the Devil's Trap painted on the floor around him. “See that? That's my personal space bubble. You'd better bloody–”

The angel stepped over the painted line without smudging it. Crowley gave him his most impressive glare, which was, in his humble opinion, pretty damn impressive, but Castiel didn't seem fazed in the slightest.  
  
“I'm warning you,” the demon threatened lowly, but his next words (having to do with Cas' wings and greasy diner food) were muffled because the angel had gently pushed the arm holding the bottle aside and wrapped his arms around Crowley, which left the demon to mumble into the trench coat.

Oh, for pity's sake.

He huffed an aggravated sigh into the fabric and contemplated emptying his scotch bottle over the angel's head, but he couldn't bring himself to go that far. His Craig was just a little too precious for that (and despite the fact that he could always snap up some more, it never quite tasted right that way).

Crowley sighed again, this time in defeat, and patted Castiel's back with his free hand in the hopes that it would get the angel to let go already. It wasn't that the angel was all that bad at hugging, per se, but Crowley didn't _do_ hugs. If one of his subordinates saw him like this, he was never going to live it down.

Plus having an angel's Grace this close without feeling threatened was just weird.

Just as he was starting to contemplate that feeling, giving up on his resistance for now, Castiel stepped back and tilted his head at the demon.

“Do you feel better now?” he inquired gravely.

Now there was a sentence Crowley hadn't expected the angel to direct at him. Ever.

“Thanks, I feel just peachy,” he responded, adding an extra dose of sarcasm to cover up the unsettling squirming in his chest which had no business being there. “Now that we've got that over and done with, care to _finally_ enlighten me as to the purpose of your little social call?”

Even _he_ noticed that his tone lacked the bite it had previously carried and judging by Castiel's satisfied little smile and the less coveted grin Dean was sporting, it hadn't gone unnoticed by them, either. He shot them a bitchface to rival the moose's at his best.

“ _So_?”

Dean stepped forward, pointedly smudging the edge of the Devil's Trap as he went. He held Crowley's eyes as he did it, unblinking, and the king of Hell wondered what it said about him that he didn't stab them right then and there or at least took his leave now that he could.

The thought wasn't one he wanted to dwell on for too long. Instead, he snatched the piece of paper Dean was holding out toward him.

“We could use some help with that,” the hunter commented. “Been stuck with it for weeks now, we thought you might know something.”

Crowley pocketed the slip of paper without glancing at it and answered: “I'll look into it. In my _own_ time. I'm a busy man, you know.”

He waited for Dean to start pushing or complaining and for a second, it looked like the hunter was going to, but then he nodded and unexpectedly clapped a hand over Crowley's shoulder. “Alright, thanks.” The demon blinked at it in confusion even as he found himself leaning into the warmth of the touch slightly.

_Pull yourself together, for pity's sake._

“I'll, um – I'll be off then.”

He raised his bottle in a half-toast and vanished from the broken Devil's Trap before the situation could get any weirder.

**Author's Note:**

> You're in the third part, you know the drill. If there's anyone who you think should really get a hug (in any character combination you want), tell me.


End file.
